A Firm Hand
by alexofthegarden
Summary: Dean wanted to grab Sammy, shake him, ask him what the hell he was thinking, but he didn't have time before Bobby came barreling toward them. Dean immediately threw himself in front of his brother. "Please don't spank him, Uncle Bobby," Dean pleaded. "It was my fault."


**Author's Note:**

 **Thank you so much to my wonderful new friend and beta, edge_of_clairvoyance for being such a great cheerleader and giving brilliant feedback.  
**

* * *

It was the rustling of sheets that woke Dean up with a start, and without a thought he peered over at the twin bed next to his. As much as he liked having his own bed when their dad was out of town, it was still unnerving not to feel the warmth of his little brother next to him. But the ever present morning chill in the air that seeped through the cracks of their Uncle Bobby's house wasn't what made him shiver that morning. The empty bed beside him sent a current of panic through his body before he hitched up on his elbows to catch a shadowed glimpse of Sam slipping out of their bedroom. Just going to the bathroom, Dean thought. He fell back on his pillow with relief, laughing quietly at himself. Even though Bobby was in charge while Dad was gone, Sam was still Dean's responsibility.

He waited, but with each minute Sam didn't come back, that beat of his heart picked up speed. Jumping out of bed, he pulled a sweatshirt on, and went out into the hallway.

"Sammy," he whispered. He didn't want to wake Bobby.

The bathroom was empty and Dean headed downstairs. Sometimes Sam would get hungry, so Dean made his way to the kitchen, expecting to find him, but that was empty too. His stomach started to clench as he searched room after room with no sign of his little brother. He slid on his shoes, grabbed a jacket, and went out the front door.

"Sammy," he called as loudly as he dared. He heard nothing but silence in return.

The cloud of his breath leading the way, he searched the junkyard before heading around the back of the house where his dad and Bobby had set up a gun range for the boys to practice. Dean was allowed to shoot alone as long as a grown-up knew he was there, but Sammy had only been shooting for the couple of months since Christmas, when Dean had told him how monsters went bump in the night. Sammy was forbidden from going by himself. Not that he ever would. Sammy hated to shoot.

Which is why it made no sense at all that his little brother was standing at the shooting table, a .45 in his hand.

"Sam, what the-" Dean yelled.

Jumping with surprise, his finger tight on the trigger, Sam swung around toward his brother and the sound of a gunshot pierced the air.

Dean ducked, nearly falling flat to the ground. "Son of a bitch, Sam!" Scrambling up he rushed over and grabbed the gun out of his brother's now frozen hand, emptying the clip and dropping the gun on the table.

Dean wanted to grab Sammy, shake him, ask him what the hell he was thinking, but he didn't have time before Bobby came barreling toward them.

"What in the hell do you two idgits think you're doing?"

Sam's eyes opened wide, barely breathing out of fear, but instinct took over panic for Dean and he immediately threw himself in front of his brother, keeping a protective hand on his arm.

"Please don't spank him, Uncle Bobby," Dean pleaded. "It was my fault."

Bobby looked taken aback for such a brief moment that Dean was sure he had imagined it. But what he didn't imagine was his uncle's full review of the scene in front of him; the clip, the gun, and Sammy, trembling behind him hard enough for Dean to feel it. He knew Bobby had heard the shot fire. He knew that they were in for it bad.

"Really?" Bobby finally said, his disbelieving gaze returning to Dean. "Your fault."

Dean was nearly certain Bobby didn't believe him but his cards were on the table now and he was determined to go all in. "Yes sir. I came down to train. Dad told us we needed to be shooting perfectly when he got back and I wanted to get an early start. So I came down and Sam must have woken up to find me gone and came looking for me."

Bobby just raised a brow and looked over Dean's shoulder. "This true, Sammy? You come downstairs to find your brother? Because you know full well you ain't allowed anywhere near this gun range without me or your Daddy watchin'."

Dean wished he had eyes in the back of his head because he didn't know if Sammy nodded or shook his head but the silence behind him was deafening.

"I don't abide lying, boys." Bobby's gruff voice was as stern as Dean had ever heard it. He didn't know about Sammy, but he knew that he was in for a whipping for sure. "Dean, go to your room, I want to speak to Sam alone."

Leaving Sammy alone went against every instinct Dean had. Head suddenly spinning, Dean didn't know whether to scream and distract or shut up and obey. In the end he suspected that just like with his dad, it would be worse for both of them if he defied the order. So he gave a quiet, "Yes sir," and, with one apologetic glance to a terrified Sammy, he went back inside, up to his room, sat on his bed, and waited. 

* * *

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the little boy in front of him; eyes like saucers, holding back tears, trying to be a man because it was no doubt worse with John when he wasn't. Bobby tried not think about what these boys had endured with their stubborn, traumatized, drill-sergeant of a father. Bobby wasn't John Winchester, but he also couldn't go easy on them just because their daddy was.

He took a step toward the boy who gripped the leg of the table to stop himself from stepping back. "You wanna tell me the truth, Sam? Because I know there is no way in hell your brother would voluntarily get up at the crack of dawn even if it was to please your daddy."

There was nothing but silence, Sam watching him, trying to dive deep into his eyes, to calculate his chances, trying to understand the repercussions of telling the truth. Sammy was smart, though. He could read people well. "I had a nightmare," he finally said. "I dreamt…"

Bobby watched Sam's gaze drop to the ground and he was pretty sure the shame didn't come from his behavior but rather what he had dreamt. He couldn't help but drop the façade and show the kid a bit of kindness. "Now come on, boy," he said gently. "It can't be that bad."

Sam's gaze flickered up for just a second and Bobby could see that Sam sure thought it was. "I dreamt that I was out hunting with Dad and Dean. Some monster, I don't know. But it was coming straight at them. Dad and Dean were running toward me, screaming at me to shoot, but I…I didn't know how. I tried, I really tried. But I couldn't save them."

Bobby made it to Sam in time for the boy to crumple in his arms and soak his flannel with tears. He placed a soothing hand on the kid's head.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Bobby. I know it was wrong to come out here by myself and to use the guns at all and then I almost shot Dean and I know I deserve a spanking," Sam rambled against the man's belly.

"Hey," Bobby said and he pushed Sam's head up, wiping the tears from the boy's eyes and cheeks. "I know you understand that what you did was very wrong. It was dangerous and stupid and you could have hurt yourself or your brother. And I understand why you did it, believe me I do. But it doesn't excuse your recklessness or your disobedience."

"I know," Sammy said, wiping his nose and forcing himself to stand a bit taller. He lifted his chin with a determination and courage that he most certainly learned from Dean. "I'm ready."

"No," Bobby said. "You're not."

Sam's eyes flickered in panic once more but he recovered quickly. "Why?"

"Because," Bobby said. "You're going to need your strength for your punishment, so that means sitting down and having a good breakfast. And when we're done, you and I are going to come back out to the range and you are going to learn how to clean and ready that .45 properly, and you are going to learn how to hit your targets, and you are going to train until your arm hurts so much that you'll probably wish I'd just taken you over my knee instead. But I ain't your daddy, and in my house there will be no spankings. Understood?"

"Yes sir," Sam said, relief falling over his face.

"Good. Now get yourself inside and start the coffee. I'll go talk to Dean and we'll be down in a few." 

* * *

Dean fidgeted as he waited on the bed, a cool breeze from the window he'd opened sending a chill through his bones. He strained his ears, listening outside for that inevitable smack of skin on skin, listening for his brother's cries. Sammy hated being spanked more than anything. He couldn't take it like Dean could. Not because of the physical pain, Sammy had proven over and over that he could hold his own in a fight. But whenever Dad took Sam over his knee, it seemed like the pain went straight to his heart. Dean didn't know why. It wasn't like that for him. And he knew it wasn't weakness. He just knew he had to protect Sam from it.

When Dean succeeded, Dad would take the belt to him instead, and he was never sure if it was for the lie to protect Sammy or for what he'd pretended he'd done, but it didn't really matter. Dad would put all of his anger and disappointment straight into Dean's whipping and by the time he'd get back to Sam, he was too drained to make it hurt, if he even spanked Sam at all.

Bobby wasn't playing that game though. That was clear from the start. This time Dean knew for sure he'd be whipped for the lie, and he hadn't even been able to save Sam anything.

He listened again but he figured Bobby must have taken Sam deep into the junkyard because he couldn't hear a thing.

Then the front door opened and shut and Bobby's footsteps on the stairs sounded like thunder in Dean's ears. His heart raced. He heard a quick knock, then Bobby came, leaning back against the door he closed behind him.

Dean tried to figure out what had happened by his uncle's face, but he was far better at poker than Dean was. "Sammy okay?" he asked quietly.

"He's fine, Dean," Bobby said dismissively and Dean couldn't decipher it well enough to know what that meant. Bobby wasn't going to let him find out. "Let's talk about you. You wanna tell me why you felt you needed to lie to me back there?"

Dean thought it was pretty obvious. "Just didn't want Sammy in trouble, that's all."

Bobby stared at him so hard it seemed like he was trying to see inside him. "So it's better for you to get in trouble even though you did nothing wrong?"

Another obvious question. "Yes."

"Why?"

Dean shuffled uncomfortably on the bed. Why did they have to talk like this, why couldn't Bobby just get things over with? His father always just reacted first and asked questions later. "Because I can take whatever whippin' you're gonna give me, but Sammy…he can't." Dean lowered his eyes. "It just…it just breaks him." He didn't say that watching Sammy break broke him too.

He heard the soft footsteps and felt Bobby's fingers grip his chin, raising it until their eyes met. Dean saw compassion in his uncle's face. "I know your daddy believes you boys need a firm hand, and I don't disagree. But ain't nobody getting whipped in this house, boy. Not your brother and not you." Dean opened his mouth to say something but Bobby cut him off. "That doesn't mean you can lie to me without consequences." Dean blinked. He didn't understand what was happening. "Now, Sammy and I are going to be spending the day at the gun range, shootin' until his arm nearly falls off. And while we're doing that, you are going to be putting that tongue of yours to better use than spilling lies to get him out of the trouble he deserves. Come with me."

Speechless, his head spinning with confusion, Dean got up and followed Bobby downstairs to his library. He watched as his uncle pulled from the shelves four hardcover books and handed them to him.

"Two books on Latin incantations. One on Greek Mythology. One on monster lore," Bobby said. "You're going to sit with us at the range and you're going to read these until we're done. Out loud."

"Out loud?" Dean whined. Sammy was the scholar, not him. He was pretty sure it would take however long Sammy could last on the range just to read the Latin.

"Out loud," Bobby repeated. "What's in those books will save your life just as sure as that gun will. But not if you can't say the Latin right. And not if you just sit there pretending to read hoping you learn through osmosis."

Dean blushed. Bobby knew him too well. "Yes sir," he said, tucking the books under his arm.

"Alright." Bobby draped his arm over the boy's shoulder, steering him toward the kitchen. "Let's get you boys a good breakfast. Today ain't gonna be fun for either of you, but you don't need to endure on an empty stomach."

"I don't suppose you'd let me do the shooting for Sammy and Sam do the reading for me," he quipped, mischief in his eyes when he looked up at Bobby.

But Bobby just looked down at him sternly. "Now if I did that, it wouldn't be punishment, you idgit. You both are in this mess because Sammy had a nightmare he couldn't shoot to protect you. Now, neither of you have to like it, but he needs to train and you need to study. A hunter needs every tool in his toolbox, not just the ones he most likes to use. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Dean tried to look chastised. It wasn't going to be fun at all. But a small smile escaped anyway. He couldn't help but think that, in time, he'd look back fondly on this day for the rest of his life.


End file.
